


I Belong With You

by theLoyalRoyalGuard



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Cassian cooks breakfast, Comfort, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Mild Smut, Oral Sex, POV Cassian Andor, Post-Rogue One, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, and gets something he didn't expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLoyalRoyalGuard/pseuds/theLoyalRoyalGuard
Summary: After the events of Rogue One and A New Hope, Cassian and Jyn can no longer deny the attraction they feel for each other. An innocent night spent together turns intimate over a home-cooked breakfast.





	I Belong With You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and credit goes to Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome for Jyn's part!

It’s been thirty-six standard days since Scarif. Though it’s hardly the first time Cassian got close to dying, that one sticks with him, comes back in his dreams. So it’s not the first time he’s drinking himself to sleep, either.

He thinks about calling someone, but who would he call? Bodhi’s spending a lot of time with Luke these days, and he won’t bother them. K2 is still powered down, waiting for replacement parts. 

And Jyn? She’s probably with Leia. He stares at the commlink in his palm for a long time, then growls and throws it at the wall. 

His quarters are small. It thunks off the metal and hits the floor, mocking him with his own loneliness, that he doesn’t even have someone to drink with, so he lies down and turns his back to it.

He’s just about to maybe sleep a little bit, when the comm beeps.

He groans and rolls over, glaring at it. It beeps insistently at him, so he drags himself off the bed to pick it up. 

"Andor."

"Hey. Can I come in?" It’s Jyn.

"Yeah, yeah, sure." He looks around, at the remains of dinner. At the obvious bottle and empty cup on the table. He’s about to clean up, but she must have called him from right outside, because the door opens a moment later.

She slips in, silent, like a nexu. Just as dangerous, too.

He’s still sitting on the floor, comm in hand, because he hasn't gotten around to even moving back to the bed yet. He looks up when she comes in, and tries on a smile that pinches like too-small boots.

She sink down next to him, and cups his cheek in one callused palm. "What are we going to do with you?"

He leans his shoulder against hers, doesn’t flinch from her touch the way he does from most others. "I had a few ideas. They didn't go over too well."

"Like what?" Her fingers twine in his. They held hands on the way off Scarif, too. 

He shakes his head. Not with her. He’s not sure he can take it right now with someone he actually cares about. But he can tell her why he’s alone tonight when he didn’t plan to be.

"I lost my head and came on too strong."

"You? Coming on too strong? What a shock." Her tone is light, she’s teasing him. It’s such a little, normal thing, and it feels so good.

The corner of his mouth twitches in response. "Don't rub it in. Everyone else gets to have fun."

"Isn't that what you promised me? Rebellions are built on fun and games or something?" She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. 

"Well, you certainly seem to be enjoying a few privileges of heroism." He didn't begrudge her, not at all.

But the teasing goes away, and there’s such bitterness when she laughs. "I was. We're... we're over"

His head jerks up. "What? Why?"

"She said she's less of a threat to anyone if she's alone." Jyn mumbles the words.

He groans softly. "She's being noble again. I'll see if I can talk her out of it for you." Because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Jyn. For both of them.

Well, almost nothing. 

"I don't need help.”

"Doesn't mean I won't give it to you." That's what they did. That’s how they’d survived.

She sighs so deeply it’s like she’s trying to breathe out the whole part of herself that cares about that princess from Alderaan. "Hold me?"

When she leans against him, he opens his arms to her, lets her lean into his chest. She’s not a small woman, and he’s not a big man, so they fit like a matched set. He only has to shift to spare the sorest part of his back, where he'd hit the strut when he fell. 

When they’re settled, he rested his cheek on top of her head.

"You can stay, if you want,” he murmurs. A loose bit of her hair tickles. “I'm sorry I haven't been a very good friend lately."

"You're a good friend." 

Not, he thinks, that she’s had much to compare to. He holds her a little tighter. Sometimes it felt like they’re back on that beach, like they'd never left, like all this was a dream in their last moments. 

"I'm glad you stayed with the rebellion." With him.

"I'm glad too." There’s a pause. She’s relaxed, leaning into him, so he’s holding her full weight now. He doesn’t mind. "Can I sleep... here?"

"Yes," he says softly. And softer still, adds, "please."

They stay like that a while until, until she stirs, gets to her feet. He looks up at her, about to question, and she’s holding out her hand. An offer to help him up.

He takes it, lets her pull him to his feet. She’s more than strong enough to lift him., and he sees in her eyes the memory they share. The last time she carried him, not so very long before. 

But they’re safe here, even if neither of them really know what that means. Even if neither of them really believe it. Safe, at least, as they can ever be anywhere.

He stumbles a little against her. Maybe he wants to, maybe he means to. Now, when he could blame it on being drunk and not on the yearning that's been with him for twenty years. 

To belong somewhere. Not to belong _to_ , the way he belongs to the rebellion, but as part of something. 

Rogue One was the first time in a long time he truly felt like his choices mattered.  
The taste only left him hungrier for more. And she's a part of that hunger. So he lets himself stumble a little closer, and then grins and laughs it off.

Just to remind them that they're alive. "Never seen you drunk before, captain.” She’s teasing him again, as they half fall, half stumble onto his bunk.

"Not so. I was drunk the other night." When he'd fallen asleep in Leia's bed with his head on Jyn's lap. That was embarrassing. 

He shifts over to lie between her and the cold metal wall.

"You were? No idea." 

“So drunk." He giggles and put an arm around her waist, tugging her a little closer. The bunk really isn’t made for two.

"Is this really your blanket?" She tugs at the thin sheet. He doesn’t get cold easily.

"There's a thicker one in the closet if you're cold." He isn't. Her presence is enough for him.

"That's far away." Her fingers slide under his warm coat, over his shirt. "C-cold."

He shivers, and not from any chill. "You can have my coat." He starts to shrug it off. She’s pressed so close now. He's brought this torment on himself, and now he had to live with it.

She wraps his coat around her shoulders, and yawns, wide, but not so much like a nexu. He’s guiltily glad now that his other plans for the night hadn’t worked out. Even if that would have offered him more relief. This is better. "Go to sleep. We're safe now."

She snuggles against his chest, soft only in the moments before sleep. He lies awake long after she’s drifted off, trying to think of nothing but the warmth he holds, until at last sheer exhaustion drags him down.

He sleeps lightly, so when her breathing changes, it’s enough to begin to stir him from dreams of a beach that no longer exists. He shivers and sighs, hiding his face against her shoulder.

And she runs her fingers through his hair, tender, affectionate. Something she’d never done before. It wakes him fully, but he stays perfectly still. Pretending to be asleep, because the soft touch feels so nice, and he doesn’t want her to stop. Even if it takes a small deception to keep it.

There’s a small sliver of exposed skin under his cheek. The urge to press his lips to it is overwhelming. He stirs at last, properly awake. And hung over.

"Morning," she whispers.

"Did we, ah, we didn't..." His memory is fuzzy. No, he was pretty sure nothing had happened. He laughs nervously. "I have to stop drinking so much."

"Did we what?" 

He shakes his head too quickly, and winces. "Nothing, it's nothing. I'm going to shower. I'll cook, if you want to stay for breakfast?"

"You know you can't drag me away from your cooking." He loves it when she smiles at him like the way she does right then.

He has to climb over her to get out of bed. For one moment, he’s above her, pressed close. He tries not to imagine staying like that, his hands pinning her down, his lips on her skin. Then his feet hit the cold floor.

The fresher is a sanctuary he can’t wait to leave, so he’s back five minutes later, his wet hair neatly parted and combed.

"Breakfast." He grins, rubbing his hands together. Just happy to have her here. Happy not being alone. "Spices or no spices?"

She arches an eyebrow at him. "Can you even cook without spices?"

"Only if you ask very nicely." He starts pulling out things to cook with. He almost never cooks for himself alone, only for other people.

"I wouldn't want to limit such a culinary genius.”

That makes him blush a little, and he sets about making her chilaquiles. Or the best he can do with what he has on hand. Despite his limitations, even he thinks it smells delicious.

"Who taught you to cook?" she asks behind him. Conjuring memory from the scent of spices. Large, warm hands guiding his. Laughter in the kitchen. So warm while the snow came down outside. 

For a moment, the words won't come. 

"My mother," he manages to say after a stammering pause.

There’s the kind of silence that acknowledges everything that’s missing. The knowledge that they’re both orphans. Then she’s behind him – he didn’t even hear her coming – and she wraps her arms around his waist, leans her head on his back.

He’s tense, but only for a moment, then breathed out. Lets her hold him. Because she knows. 

He had pulled her away from her father's body on Eadu.

"I was wrong," she whispers.

"About what?" He stirs the pan carefully, without disturbing her leaning against him.

"Thinking I wasn't in love with you," she mumbles.

He goes absolutely still, spatula frozen in the pan. 

"What about the princess?" It’s all he could think of to say.

"I love her too, I think. But not like this. Not like home." 

He knows what home is, but home is gone. Could this be home, too? Cooking for someone like his mother used to. Laughing in the... well, it's not a kitchen. But it could do for now. 

"Jyn." He can't move. He won't, even if he should. "You barely know me."

"I know I'm safe here, " she replies.

It's everything he wants and everything that terrifies him. But their bond is forged in fire, strong as khyber. 

He remembers to move before the beans burn on the bottom. 

"Always, that's a promise."

He moves the pan off the heat, and her hands are on his waist. She turns him by the hips. Her kiss comes like a sniper shot, hard and dangerous and sudden. It only takes one shot, one kiss, and he's down. Done for. Can't pretend anymore that he doesn't want it. 

She kisses the way she does everything else, nothing held back. This has been coming for a long time. Her hands dig into his back, keeping him there.

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, where he can't protect himself with anything.  
This isn't like what he planned for last night, he knows how to do that sort of thing. 

But this.  
This is something else. 

And he discovers that getting what he wants is terrifying. But he's not want to give up just because he's scared. The tip of his tongue flicks over her lip, asking for more. Her mouth yields to his, and her trust astounds him. 

He can't quite believe it's happening, but he's not going to question it, either. He just wants this one spark of happiness. Doesn't he deserve that, after all he's done? He's greedy for that, for her, like hoarding sweets for later, every moment a memory he'll have when he's alone again.

She kisses away the creases between his brows, and the small of his back bumps the little counter. He’s caught between the metal and her body, and there’s nothing he can do now to pretend she hasn’t had a profound effect on him. Physically speaking.

"Cassian…” On her lips, his name is made to be whispered.

He swallows hard, his eyes wide and black with longing he can't hide anymore. The way she says his name, a breath, a prayer, that holds everything they've been through in the small syllables. 

"Jyn."

Every protest he might have made dies when she bites, her teeth tugging his bottom lip. For once, he doesn't know what's coming next, doesn't plan, doesn't scheme. He just kisses her and let's it happen.

He tips her head back, kisses along her jaw, her neck. She whispers, "Please," and he doesn’t know what she’s begging for. He pauses, blushing at how much he's revealed of his own wanting. 

"Yes." He doesn't know what he's agreeing to.

She holds him, then, and they’re all longing and no outlet. He doesn’t know how to do this with someone who actually matters, and someone he’ll see again. It’s a terrible idea and he’s never wanted anything more.

Then she smiles at him, a wry little quirk of her mouth, and says, "breakfast?”

"Yes,” he says again, and then his brain catches up and he blushes. “Oh. Yes, that's right." He'd forgotten all about that. The smell of his childhood all around him, he feels safe enough here to be forgetful. With her. "It's almost done."

"Really? And what was the holdup, captain?" She reaches out and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"There was, ah, a distraction at the helm." He clears his throat. Turns quickly to hide his arousal, but it’s not long before she’s close against his back again. Simply pleasant warmth and first, until her hand slides around his hip. 

"Surely a pilot like you can... multitask.”

He gasps, sharp and ragged, his head jerking back in surprise as she strokes him through the fabric. It fades into a rough laugh. "Does that make you my co-pilot?"

"Mm." Her teeth catch his earlobe, sending a thrill down his spine. "Or maybe I'm your captain"

He shivers delicately. Decides he likes that she bites. Because of course she does. "You have to get promoted for that."

"Promote me then," she whispers, her breath hot against his neck.

"You have to earn it with service," he says and then can't quite believe he said it.

"Fine."

She pulls him back, puts herself between him and the stove… and drops to her knees. Now it’s her tongue that traces the shape of him under the cloth, and she actually _growls_.

His eyes go wide. " _Jyn..._ "

"Captain Jyn, if you please." 

He laughed, softly, breathless. "Once you earn that promotion." Though he won't ask for anything. He doesn't know how. He’s never even dreamed of this.

She tugs down his trousers, and he doesn’t even try to stop her, even though he thinks he should. 

He's lost weight, even since Scarif. The bones jut for her to soothe with her lips. She kisses the tender skin drawn tight over the points of his hipbones, but there's something else that needs a lot more soothing, and he can barely breathe already just looking at her. When she touches him, he makes a raw, ragged sound in his throat and then falls silent. A second tip, her tongue traces the shape of him, but this time there’s nothing separating them.

It’s clear she’s done this before, and knows what she’s doing. He wonders if it was a lover, or people she wants something from, and which he is. Maybe both. 

"Go on,” she said, looking up at him as if to say, _let me take care of this, if not you._ “Get back to cooking"

"Yes, captain.” He tries to sound like he's teasing her, but it comes out too earnest.

She wets her lips. "You want this?"

"Yes." It comes out a whisper. He wants it the way he wants things he shouldn't have.

She’s smooth and slow at first, and hums softly. He tries not to make a sound. Just to listen to her. Caught up in simply feeling her. It's the only time she's ever been soft.

He goes back to finishing breakfast, like she told him to, and she catches his free hand, guides it to the back of her head. So he takes the offers, because he knows what he's doing, too. Not well, maybe, he usually gives more than he takes. But after the first wonder, his body takes over, and he moans softly, nearly drops his spatula.

Realizes that the sound he made was her name again.

She pulls him all the way into her mouth, and the handle of the pan slips through his fingers with a clatter back onto the stove. 

"You're good at this," he says, trying to still sound like he's in control, but he's not, not even a little. She is. 

Even though she can’t answer with her mouth full, she does manage a little, "Mm." 

He manages to turn the heat off so nothing will burn, and then gives up on anything but the sweetness of her touch. Only he doesn't feel sweet. He's ravenous. Trembling with need, coming apart fast.

She coaxes him with the flick of her tongue, and he gasps, "Do you want me to–" but of course, she can't answer that, either. Or maybe she’s answering him right now. He shudders and his breath catches.

There's no going back from this. From the fact she told him she loves him, and he thanked her by fucking her mouth without saying it back.

He can't say it now, so he just says her name again. Pleading for something. For release or forgiveness, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that they’re here, they won, they’re alive.

"Jyn... I can't hold on like this." She's too good, he wants her too much. And it's been a long time. She hums, and he closes his eyes, because looking at her in that moment is more than he can take.

When he's done, she gets to her feet, a little shaky, and starts to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand, but he catches her and pulls her against him. Kisses her. Hard at first, but then softer, melting. His knees feel soft, too, but he doesn't fall. Neither does he mind the taste on her lips, he’s just glad she’s here with him. Like she’s been with him since the salt and the blood and the sand of Scarif.

Her fingers twist in his hair, pulling, tight. Even now, he doesn’t know how to say it. Love isn't something he's ever fought for, ever dreamed of. Even his ambitions were never so high. 

But he kisses her like he almost can imagine it, running his hands down her back, until he needs to come up for air. 

He promises himself he’ll return the favor later, and manages to gasp, "Breakfast is ready."


End file.
